EYE CANDY
by RogueJacksonators
Summary: While visiting Beacon Hills for the summer, Lydia Martin goes speed dating, witnesses her best friend get kidnapped and gains a serial killing stalker. Then the police catch her trying to trace the stalker on her own. Now she has to work with the ambitious Detective Stilinski to uncover a case with a history, rescue Allison, and save all her dates.
1. Chapter I

The white airport walls served as a nice complement to her red striped dress. Lydia always loved the look of a simple bold print against a plain background.

"Use 'Rebecca'!" her friend and photographer suggested and she returned Lydia her phone. "It always brings out the reds."

Lydia hummed in agreement as she applied the action on her self-designed app. The whites brightened, as did the colors of her dress and hair. She saved and cropped the image before opening Instagram.

 _eyecandyofficial: Airport style! Cali-bound for summer. Can't wait. Share your summer outfits with #ecstylishsummer  
#ig_style #fashion #LMeyecandy_

Then she switched to her private personal account and posted the image there as well.

Eyecandyofficial was the Instagram account for Lydia's fashion and lifestyle blog, Eye Candy. When Lydia was in high school she was the queen, but that was not her proudest moment. She had acted shallow and superficial, and she gladly left that version of herself behind when she entered college. One thing she did miss about it was talking about things like clothes and shopping. Just because she enjoyed learning and studying didn't mean she did not like dressing up, or making her living space look good. So after her first finals Lydia signed up for a blog and started sharing tips and picks. By the time she began her postgraduate studies at MIT, she had gain a rather large online following. Along the way, she expanded her online presence to social media and an Eye Candy photo-editing app.

She said goodbye to her friend, who had driven her to the airport, checked in and spent some time in a small bookstore before heading to the boarding gate.

Once settled on the plane, she pulled out her phone again. The photo-sharing app was still open and Lydia could her latest post already gathering likes and comments on eyecandyofficial. The single comment on that of her private account, however, stole her attention.

 _allargentium: booksxdresses see you in 6hrs!_

Lydia smiled and turned her phone to flight mode.

She had intended to sleep until landing (it was a night flight after all, she couldn't get an earlier flight because she had planned the trip at the last minute), but got distracted by the in-flight entertainment. There were two movies she had wanted to watch but missed because of work.

They landed in California a few hours before sunrise on the west coast and Lydia felt her eyelids starting to droop a little. At least she was flying backwards in the time zones. She found jet lag easier to overcome that way.

She forgot about her tiredness when she spotted Allison Argent.

* * *

Lydia first met Allison in high school, when the girl's family moved into her town in New Hampshire. She had complimented the girl's outfit on the first day of sophomore year and they hit off from there. Allison was the only person who saw through Lydia's mask. The only person whom she could talk to about science and math as much as clothes and still be listened to and more importantly, _accepted_. When the Argents moved at the end of junior year they kept in contact, and after all these years the brunette was still Lydia's closest friend. And Lydia couldn't wait to see her again.

She might have run over three people with her luggage running to Allison when she spotted the paper reading "LYDIA MARTIN!"

"That's a lot of exclamation marks, Ally!" she exclaimed, pulling away from a tight embrace. Her best friend was a serious hugger.

Allison laughed, and Lydia revelled listening to her friend laugh in real life. Skype really didn't cut it. "It's better than the banner you had the last time I visited you."

When Allison travelled to Massachusetts during spring break, Lydia had just wrapped up a scrapbooking project for her blog, aka leftover cardstock and construction paper.

"I'm short," she defended. That was true. Even in heels Lydia still only came up to about 5 foot five. "How else were you going to spot me?"

"As your friend since high school, I can assure you I've developed a talent for finding small people in big crowds."

Beacon Hills, where Allison lived, was a small, a little out of place town that was a good distance from the airport. Meaning lots of time to catch up and share stories. Allison told Lydia about Beacon Hills: about the town, some of the places to eat, a strange wild animal attack incident, and her new job as a conservationist for the local preserve. Lydia shared about her classes, teaching undergrads, and was complaining about a report submission gone wrong.

"...so I had to go back to the library and redownload the report that I had already uploaded in advance, and waste money printing it a _second time_ on the lousy library printer! That horrible object is a disgrace to the MIT name," she concluded.

Allison nodded. "Every school has one faulty printer. I'm glad I left that in college."

Lydia stifled a yawn. The initial excitement of reuniting with her friend was wearing off and she was starting to feel sleepy again. But she forced herself to listen to Allison's tale of how she had to rescue someone caught in a trap for coyotes.

"...and he was crying in pain and there was blood all over his leg and I was so shocked that instead of the hospital I drove him to the animal clinic," she heard her friend say. Lydia's ears perked up at the words 'animal clinic'.

Slumped against the window, she turned her head. "Speaking of the animal clinic," she asked, "when am I going to meet the elusive Doctor McCall?"

"Soon," the other girl replied. Lydia watched as a grin spread over her friend's face at the thought of the certain vet working at Beacon Hills Animal Clinic and Shelter. Lydia had never met Allison's boyfriend Scott, even though they recently celebrated their first anniversary. The pair had met when Allison's family just moved to (and finally settled down in) Beacon Hills and were quickly smitten by each other. Allison had promised to introduce him on Skype a few times, but Lydia never got to see more than pictures of the guy.

"Could soon mean today?" she probed. "Or does he have another escapade for work again, perhaps in Alaska this time?"

"Hey, that trip to Mexico was real, okay?" Allison said defensively. "His ex-boss needed some help for a while. And for the record, he wants to meet you too."

"Why? What things about me have you told him?" Lydia joked.

Allison smirked. "That you could give his plaid flannel fanatic friend some fashion tips."

They finally reached Beacon Hills just after sunrise and although Lydia usually had no problems waking up early, she had always been more of a night owl, and the effect of watching all those in-flight movies were catching up to her. As soon as they pulled up in front of the Argent household, Lydia dragged her luggage up to the spare room, mumbled a greeting to Allison's father, and collapsed on the bed.

The sun was still somewhat high in the sky when she woke up, but this was summer. Lydia guessed it was around four o'clock. Maybe five. She rolled over and picked up the watch she left on the bedside drawer. Yep, 4.32 pm.

She swung her legs off the bed, sliding onto the floor next to her luggage. She pulled out a set of clothes, set them on the bed, then pushed herself onto her feet and crossed the room to the closet. Once she mentally mapped out the arrangement for her clothes, she unpacked most of her belongings into the closet. Except for the shoes. Those were lined up next to the door. Make-up and related items on the vanity. And her stationery and books on the desk. Then she grabbed the clothes on the bed and headed for the shower.

Allison came into the room just as Lydia came out of the shower, towelling her hair.

"Oh, you're awake," the brunette said. "I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight."

Lydia smiled. "Woke up just on time then."

"Nah, there's still time. I was just checking on you," Allison said, waving an arm. "But since you're already up we could head out early and then I can show you a place after."

"You pretty much want to show me every square feet of this town," Lydia joked. "Just let me get my hair dry and change to some nicer clothes."

* * *

"So where is this place you think I should really check out?" Lydia asked as they drove out of the lot in front of The English Village, a small diner which claimed to serve _"the finest English-style fish and chips"_ , backed up by Allison and apparently, Scott too. Lydia had been to England once when she was a little girl, and could not remember what the fish and chips there tasted like. But the food at The English Village really was good.

"It's called the Nemeton," said Allison. "And it's sort of like a pub-slash-cafe-slash-nightclub."

"And how exactly does that work?"

"In the day it's like a nice little watered-down starbucks, serving your morning coffee et cetera. In the evening the bar opens, they clear half the tables, and turn on the strobe lights," the dark haired girl explained. And they screen lacrosse games and some bigger baseball or NBA ones. Lacrosse is pretty popular here," she added.

Lydia frowned. "I'm confused. We're going to watch a sports game? Or are we going clubbing?"

Allison grinned. "That's the best part. On Friday nights the bar opens later and they have this little thing called 'Love Shots'. We're going speed-dating!" she sang. A little too enthusiastically for someone who had been in a serious relationship for a year.

When Lydia pointed out just as much, her friend simply laughed. "Sorry Lydia, I made a mistake. We're not going speed-dating. _You_ are."

"That is ridiculous," Lydia responded calmly with her signature eye roll. Although in her head she had immediately shrieked "What?!"

"What's ridiculous is how long you've stretched your, I quote, 'short break from guys'," Allison said matter-of-factly. "Three years isn't short, Lydia. You've probably forgotten how to date."

"And the oh-so-romantic atmosphere of this little hybrid cafe club is going to help me relearn the all-important life skill which is dating?"

"You're gonna spend two and a half months here, Lyds. Two and a half months, with no work to distract you," Allison said. "Maybe you'll meet a really cute guy, one who is actually nice this time, and you can write about it for your blog."

"Haha. I doubt desperate guys drooling over my body are aesthetically pleasing enough to be 'eye candy'," the redhead deadpanned.

Allison laughed and pulled into a row of public lots at the side of a street. "Just because you've always attracted the crappy ones doesn't mean there aren't decent guys in the world. And maybe you've already run out of bad guys. I promise, if you don't meet at least one nice guy tonight, lunch is on me tomorrow."

* * *

One guy in, and Lydia was already holding Allison to that lunch. She sat across a polished wooden circular table from a Peter who was probably a generation older than her. Well, the (surprisingly large amount of) people who showed up for some 'Love Shots' covered a pretty vast age range, so Lydia was unfazed when an older man got to her table. She had figured he was here for the older ladies.

Peter did not talk much. In fact, he'd been polite at first. He was clean shaven and looked fairly intelligent. If Lydia were her mother's age she might have found him good-looking. But he never once touched his coffee. He asked more questions than he answered, and even his answers were vague. And the whole time he stared at her intensely. Lydia felt like his eyes were trying to bore into her mind and uncover all her weaknesses. When the bell _dinged_ to signal the end of the first session, she let out a breath she had not realised she was holding.

Speed dating was pretty slow, especially when one was not interested. Kind of like rush hour, when everyone was moving at snail's pace together as they rushed to or from work.

Lydia plowed her way through boys and men alike. Some were polite at least, some were shy, some blatantly checked her out. She remembered a few names here and there. A Josh, Taylor the mechanic, some engineer - Stan, she thinks, and Jack Smith. She remembers that name because, well, as common as those names are reported to be she's never encountered anyone with a name like Jack Smith who wasn't made up.

Jack nearly made a good impression when he initiated a discussion about ethics in science. But then he'd been too eager to impress. He'd made a point, Lydia would challenge him, and he'd concede. Every time. At least he was slightly more entertaining than the average guy she'd met so far.

To be fair, she did check some guys out too. Like Aidan, who looked to be around her age and the chiseled jaw, leather jacket and carpenter jeans thing going for him. He had nice dark eyes, broad shoulders and his tight shirt didn't leave much to imagination. She would have jumped him should this have been high school. But this was a odd-concept club and she was a twenty-five year old postgrad who had outgrown the bad boy type a decade ago. He mentioned he was only passing through for a week anyway - what was there to date?

The bell rang and Aidan left for the next table. Lydia checked the large basketball-style digital clock on the wall. Four more dates to go. Then the bar would open, clubbing would start, and people would try to dance with the dates whose company they enjoyed/desired.

Her next date was a middle-aged man, William who admitted he was here because he lost a bet. It was a breath of fresh air in this uneventful night. He and Lydia shared some horrible bets they had made and he commended her commitment to academics. When the session ended he thanked her for helping him feel better about the dumb bets he had made in his life.

Lydia was having her coffee refilled when the next date sat down opposite her, so she didn't notice him until the waitress moved away. The man had a rather youthful look, but his eyes held a more mature gaze that lead Lydia to guess he was probably on the corner of turning thirty, just lucky enough to look good while doing so.

The man smiled. "Good evening."

She returned the greeting and introduced herself. "I'm Lydia. And you are?"

"Parrish. Jordan Parrish."

"Nice to meet you, Parrish - "

" - Jordan's fine, really."

"oh okay then. How old are you?"

He let out a small chuckle, as if he'd been asked this several times before and found it amusing. "I'm coming to thirty-two," - _aha -_ "but I've been told I look twenty-four, and when I was twenty-four I was told I could be in high school."

Lydia let herself laugh. Jordan seemed nice and genuine. He had been working in law enforcement for ten years and spent the last eight in Beacon Hills. ("You could have used your looks to your advantage and infiltrate the schools to catch delinquents." "Oh, the Sheriff might have threatened me with that once or twice." "Threatened?" "Well, I'd have to study and take exams all over again, wouldn't I?") He asked about Lydia's postgrad work and gave her directions to the largest local bookstore.

"I'll see you around," he said brightly when the bell rang, already getting out of his seat.

The last guy dashed over to the table and quickly slid into his seat as the waitress (shot girl in another ten minutes) came over to replace the empty coffee cup left behind by Jordan. He too looked young and perhaps still a little baby-faced, with bright blue eyes and dull blonde hair that seemed to turn light brown in some of the lights. Probably two or three years younger than Lydia. He gave the waitress and small wave and laughed nervously as she rolled her eyes before moving on. Lydia met him with a raised eyebrow when he finally turned to her.

"Oh, hi," he said, sounding like he forgot he was on a speed date. "I'm Liam." His eyes flickered over to the waitress, now two tables away. Lydia fixed him with a questioning face. "That's Hayden," he told her. "She's cool. I've been trying to talk to her tonight but she's determined to do her job."

"Don't you find it ironic that you're participating in a cafe speed-dating service to speak to an employee instead of potential dates?" she asked.

Liam shrugged. "I came to be my friend's wingman, but he seems to be doing fine on his own and I saw Hayden here, so I jumped on it. It's easier than trying to get her while she's handing out shots in a crowd."

He spun his chair around to watch the girl, Hayden, line up a row of shot glasses on the counter. He didn't talk to Lydia for the next five minutes.

Lydia watched the timer slowly count down the seconds to the end of the 'Love Shots'. She promptly stood up when the final bell rang, startling the young boy in front of her when she bumped into the table. She waved it off and jerked her chin towards the bar. "Good luck," she said, and watched as Liam scurried off to try to talk to Hayden.

Allison appeared beside her as soon as she entered the just cleared-out area already teeming with dancing people. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she shouted in Lydia's ear as a song blasted through the speakers.

Lydia sighed. "It wasn't as bad as I expected but it was still boring and definitely pointless."

"Well, at least you can have fun now!" Allison yelled, bobbing her head.

"You know I'm not the clubbing kind!" Lydia yelled back.

Allison rolled her eyes and grabbed Lydia's wrist. "Fine, but at least try a drink. They have some good mixes here."

Lydia had a few shots of a glowing pina colada in a mini volumetric flask, ignoring the bartender's attempts at flirting, and the girls ordered take-out chilli cheese fries (seriously, that place sold glowing alcohol and cheese fries at the same time), before leaving.

Allison shoved the carton box into Lydia's hands as they stepped into the cool night air, the bass thumping faintly behind them. "Wait here," she instructed. "I'll bring the car over. And don't finish all the fries."

Lydia made a big show of eating the largest, cheesiest fry she could find in the low light. The taller girl just rolled her eyes before stalking across the road to the car parked two streets down.

There was a buzz in her pocket and Lydia wiped her fingers off to retrieve her phone. It was probably a message from her mother to see if she had settled down in California.

Lydia looked at her phone screen and frowned. It was a text alright, but where a number or contact would have been listed it just read "Unknown". And the message said:

 **Whatever happens, don't run.**

Lydia was confused, but she ignored the text and looked up, scanning the street for Allison. She spotted her friend along the main road, just one street away from where they had parked. Allison's figure walked up to a T-junction. And then when she reached the corner, a dark shape flashed out from behind a building.

"ALLISON!"

Her scream left her throat before Lydia could comprehend what was happening. Her legs moved on their own accord, taking off down the street and across the main road. Bright lights flooded her vision and she heard the growl of an engine before something whooshed past her, causing her to spin in alarm and drop the box of cheese fries on the road. Startled and disoriented, she stumbled onto the sidewalk and the rogue car sped off into the distance. Lydia collapsed against the side of a the building and looked around. The streets were empty, the only lights coming from the Nemeton across the road. Her phone buzzed again and she jumped.

 **that must hurt**

What the hell? Then it buzzed again.

 **told you not to run**

Confused, scared and still panting, Lydia snapped her head up and ran to the T-junction. No Allison. Just the girl's wallet and keys, which she must have dropped while struggling.

Two buzzes, one after the other. Lydia looked down.

 **forget about your friend.**

 **and don't tell anyone**

Lydia crouched on the street corner, the only signs of her best friend lying on the cement in front of her. Her breaths came up short. Her heart was pounding. Her head was spinning. And then her phone buzzed for the final time that night, this time with a multimedia message.

Lydia took one look and gave out a strangled cry.

The image was dark and grainy but she recognised the dark, wavy hair and pale skin, stark against the black gag. She recognised Allison's outfit underneath the rope bindings.

 **or else**

* * *

 _Author's Note: The diner "The English Village" is fictional to the best of my knowledge, but it was inspired by this place called "The Village" in the town of Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds, England. All the food there is good, not just the fish and chips. If anyone reading this happens to live in the area, it's worth checking out. The surrounding town is also a nice place for a stroll. As long as you're not afraid of ducks._

 _The name Jack Smith is a reference to the book Eye Candy by RL Stine, which the TV show was very very VERY loosely based off. In that story, one of Lindy's dates is this guy called Jack Smith whom Lindy finds really boring but he seems quite into her, and she keeps wondering how anyone can be named that. In real life, I do actually know one Jack Smith._


	2. Chapter II

Lydia was fairly knowledgeable in computer science. She had taken programming courses in college. That was how she designed her editing app. All by herself, thank you very much.

However an image-editing algorithm is very different from a short messaging one, and Lydia was not sure she was doing this hacking thing correctly. Something in theory could turn out completely different in real life. Fortunately, she was good at dealing with theory.

Numbers and tabs spilled across the black screen in front of her. An ID scanner app was running on her phone. She traced contacts and hunted down network connections, but always seemed to reach a dead end. Last night's sender – Allison's kidnapper – hadn't just masked their messaging ID. They had rerouted and obscured all their tracks.

Allison. Lydia felt the fear rising up and out of her chest and swallowed it back down. If she wanted to help her friend, she needed to focus on the task, not worry and panic.

She checked the scanner app for any new possible identification and found an element of the messaging system's programming highlighted. She located it within the code on her laptop and start keying in her manipulation, fingers automatically flying over the keyboard. New paragraphs of code popped onto the screen, promptly attacked and analyzed.

She was pondering over a segment of code that seemed to be listing two different connections when she noticed a splotch of colour in the corner of her vision. The scanner on her phone had picked up an incoming ID, and a complete one at that. Funnily, it seemed to be embedded within a section of code that she had just opened up after keying some new directions. The situation was slightly odd, but it was the biggest lead Lydia had gotten all morning, and she pounced on it. Within five minutes she was generating an IP address. Her heart pounded.

Then the software crashed.

The white numbers and black window just blinked out, leaving a non-plussed Lydia staring at her desktop wallpaper.

She shut the laptop in frustration. She had been so close.

What had happened? Was it a system failure? Did she key in the wrong code? Did something interfere with the connection?

She couldn't find Allison.

Lydia collapsed on the guest bed. She was alone. In a large empty house. Allison's empty house.

She had not seen the girl's father since she arrived the day before. He had not returned home the previous night. She couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. She needed to tell someone – Allison's missing! She was kidnapped! I want to scream! But she didn't know how she could find the words, let along in front of Allison's father.

The ringing doorbell startled her. Oh no, Lydia though. This was it. Allison's father was coming home and would ask where his daughter was. Or maybe it was a neighbor, or one of Allison's friends, looking for the brunette girl. And Lydia would be forced to either lie or tell the truth.

She carefully tread her way downstairs, the bell ringing again as she descended the last step. She crossed the room with an unexplainable caution before she finally had one hand on the doorknob, pausing only to squint through the peep hole.

Two figures, dressed in green and beige.

The police. Lydia hadn't considered the police. _Don't tell anyone_ , the text had read. Certainly 'anyone' included the authorities? But technically speaking, she was not telling them anything if they came to her.

Maybe this had nothing to do with Allison. Maybe Beacon Hills was just having another episode of Plain Weird (as a simple online search would reveal) and they were just questioning everyone in town.

She took a deep breath, hoped she was putting on a convincing smile, and opened the door…

One of the officers did a double take when she pulled he door about halfway open (she still was not sure she wanted to risk being seen with policemen, just in case). He had an arm poised to press the doorbell again when he spotted her in the doorway and quickly jerked away. He was tall, at least a head taller then her, with dark hair looking like he had just buzzed it a few months ago, but was quickly growing out.

His companion rolled her eyes at his behavior and stepped forward, pulling her ID out in one swift motion.

"Lydia Martin?" the woman asked.

Lydia managed a nod.

The woman held up her ID. "Miss Martin, I'm administrative sergeant Clark, and this is deputy Stilinski," she paused as the other officer, Stilinski, held up his ID, before continuing, "We're here to bring you in for questioning about some missing persons."

* * *

Lydia stared at the back of Clark's headrest throughout the drive to the Beacon County Sheriff's Station.

 _Missing persons_ , the female officer had said. Lydia tried to decode what that meant. Was Allison not the only victim? Perhaps Allison was not in the equation at all, not until they said her name specifically, at least.

She was aware of Stilinski watching her from the shotgun. It started off with him just glancing back about every ten seconds. Eventually he just shifted in his seat until he was angled towards her as much as the seatbelt allowed him to be.

"We're not arresting you," he tried to assure her at one point. "Not yet."

They lead her into the station like a small procession, Stilinski in the front, Lydia in the middle, Clark behind her. Officers looked up from their desks as she passed by, watching her intently. She didn't meet their eyes. It did not help that the first one she saw was Jordan - ahem, officer Parrish.

She was lead through the station down a narrow corridor. Light came through the large window of a room down the hall. Lydia presumed it was an interrogation room and the destination intended for her. She was not wrong.

"Ladies first," Stilinski told her, stepping back to allow her entry. Lydia rolled her eyes, unamused. "Feel free to take a seat," he continued, undeterred.

Lydia sighed and pulled her chair out. The metal legs screeched against the floor. The sound made her cringe internally.

Stilinski dragged his chair out and sat down across the table from her, unfazed by the even louder noises his chair made. Lydia looked around for Clark, spotting the woman standing guard next to the door.

She turned back to the male deputy who was rubbing his hands together like a youngster getting himself hyped up. Except when Stilinski's eyes met hers, they were serious and judging. She felt as if he were trying to pry open her mind.

 _It's just a cop tactic_ , she told herself. _He's trying to unnerve you_.

"Miss Martin."

 _Fuck, he's succeeding_. The last time she had been this nervous was when she'd gone for her post-grad admissions interview.

"Miss Martin, you were at the Nemeton club last night, am I correct?"

Lydia swallowed. "Yes."

"Can you tell me where you were and what you did before, during and after that?"

People's heart rate sped up when they lied. Lydia wondered if the two officers could hear hers. "I went out for dinner at The English Village before heading to the club. I tried the speed dating service and partied for a while before leaving. After that I went straight home."

She watched Stilinski's face for a reaction, an indication as to whether he smelled her lie of omission. She got nothing. He returned her stare, expression unchanging.

"I understand you are staying with a Chris and Allison Argent?"

 _Oh no_. Lydia paused, her lips already parted, hastily sucking in a small breath. She couldn't answer this.

Opposite her, the deputy's eyebrows climbed his forehead - the first reaction he had to her since they'd entered the interrogation room. He separated his hands, which had until then been clasped loosely in front of him, long fingers interlocked, and lay his forearms flat on the table, leaning forward as he did.

"Miss Martin," Stilinski said, voice soft but firm, "Allison Argent was kidnapped last night. Did you know about this?"

Lydia lowered her head, desperately avoiding eye contact.

"Miss Martin," the deputy's voice persisted, "if you know something, you need to tell us."

* * *

The second time the trio made their way back through the station, Lydia trailed behind the two police officers, speed-walking to keep up. Clark and Stilinski took long strides ahead of her, Clark yelling orders to some other deputies, while her partner waved around a ziplock bag containing Lydia's phone. He nearly took the head off the officer instructed to download and print the chilling image from the previous night. He then proceeded to drag her into a quieter corner of the station.

Lydia watched the two officers stare down each other as the rest of the station bustled behind them.

"You can't be serious about this," the older officer said, arms folded.

The deputy responded by rolling his eyes - and his entire head along with them, arms flailing in an exasperated gesture that to Lydia, read _we've been through this_.

Sergeant Clark, too, understood. "I know what you're thinking," she told Stilinski. "I know what you plan to do, and just because you and your friends like to get involved all the time doesn't mean other people do."

The male officer sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "She's not just ' _other people_ '," he replied, motioning towards Lydia. "You know about me. And my friends. You know about us. _Please_." His voice took on a pleading tone towards the end.

Clark pursed her lips, and Lydia took the opportunity to pipe up. "Can I ask what's going on now?" she questioned meekly.

Both officers turned towards her, then back to each other. There was another stand off, until Clark's shoulders dropped. "Fine," she relented. "But remember I won't be responsible for your bringing a civilian into this." She turned to Lydia. "Stilinski thinks you might be able to help us find Miss Argent…and some other missing persons."

"Thanks Clark," Stilinski said softly as his senior strode past him. When he looked back at Lydia the initial pleading look in his eyes had been replaced with one of excitement. "Come on," he said.

He pulled her by the wrist across the main working area in the station until they stopped next to an alcove built into the wall, like those pull-out sliding boards found in small craft stores. Except those in the station were not floor-to-ceiling, but instead boards of various sizes and types, mounted on wheel stands.

"Okay," Stilinski started, pausing to catch his breath. "The first thing you need to know is that the Nemeton has been linked to several cases before. Some seem to be related, others not so much.

Like a long time ago, there was this arsonist - burned down a huge family home. She used the speed-dating service to meet both her victims and accomplices without drawing attention." The young man paused and made a face. "Yeah, weird I know. You wanna know what the woman's name was?"

He had been speaking so fast that Lydia's head was still spinning when she replied 'yes'. And his answer made it spin a few rounds more.

"Allison's…?" was all Lydia managed to say.

He studied her carefully. "Aunt," he told her finally. He took a step back, probably thinking she needed space to digest the new information.

Lydia looked up from her shoes, green eyes meeting brown ones. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked in a low voice.

"Because I think you might be able to help find your friend," he replied, voice dropping equally low. "And the others."

 _Others?_

"Others?" Lydia voiced.

Stilinski reached into the alcove and pulled out a large plexiglass board. It was covered with post-its, printed articles, grainy CCTV photographs and lots of arrows and scribbles. Lydia guessed it was collaboration between several officers – there are at least three different handwritings amongst the comments.

"This," Stilinski started, waving his arms around, "is everything we have on the latest mystery surrounding the Nemeton. Jack Smith, Aidan Baxter," he rattled off, jabbing his fingers at the respective photographs, "Both reported missing today. Went out to party last night, never came back." His finger trailed downwards, pausing in front of a photo whose subject Lydia remembered from the previous night, but could not recall the name of. "Taylor Brauner," the deputy answered for her. "Found dead this morning in his workshop. He was an automechanic. All familiar to you?"

Lydia nodded.

"Right. Now, yesterday night, the department was buying some armaments from a dealer. Nearly made the deal. Our transaction was interrupted - blocked. Someone didn't want us wiring money over. Later the dealer came here in person, said after the interruption he got a message to retract the deal, threatening the safety of his daughter."

Lydia quickly put two and two together. She remembered why Allison's family had to travel around so much. "Allison's father - "

Stilinski nodded vigorously and pulled out another board, a smaller one.

"This here," he gestured to the new board, "is what I've put together so far about the events pertaining to Allison Argent. Just made it this morning."

Lydia studied the smaller board. It was corked based, a loose web of more grainy CCTV pictures and string. Comments were scattered here and there on post-its, with one large note in the upper left corner saying 'REFER TO BIG BOARD'. Above it, a small basket had been attached to the frame of the board, holding colored skeins.

"What do the different colored strings mean?" she found herself asking.

"Different stages of the investigation," Stilinski answered automatically. "Green is solved, yellow is to be determined, blue is just pretty – the use for it changes from case to case, depending on what I need to use it for – and red is unsolved."

"You only have red on the board."

"Yes I'm aware. Thank you."

The young man paused and drew a deep breath. "Okay," he exhaled. "So lately, patrons of the club have been going missing and turning up dead. Most are men, but there are a couple of women. Serial killer - or killers - went on break for about two weeks, then last night took three people and killed a fourth. All four people interacted with you last night, one left with you - you even saw her get kidnapped, on top of it, and you also interfered with the hacking of the hacker we hired to find the other hacker who stopped our deal. All of that makes you, Miss Martin, a very special person."

"So what, you think I screen potential victims while I speed date them or something?" Lydia asked.

Stilinski shrugged. "Parrish did say you were more intelligent than most. More intelligence could also be greater capacity to be cunning and plot murders."

Lydia shook her head in confusion. "Jordan Parrish? He singled me out?" She turned around and spotted the offender across the station. He gave her a friendly smile. She returned a frown and spun back to face the other officer.

"We've been sending people there undercover to look out for suspects. Like Parrish last night - the boss likes to send him there because he is good at making people like him. And Clarke's got an employee there working as an insider for us," Stilinski explained. "People don't take the speed dating too seriously anyway. There are always a couple of people there for fun, others who lost bets, people trying to make exes jealous."

He raised his right arm, smacking it against the plexiglass. "But every person linked to the Nemeton, missing or dead, participated in the Espresso Shots - "

"Love Shots," Lydia corrected.

" - yeah, _that_ ," Stilinski continued, unfazed, "bar Allison Argent. And there seems to be an emerging pattern where it has to be people who speed dated you. Or accompanied you."

On the last word threw his hands out, stopping them on either side of Lydia's head. Lydia took a tiny step back, moving her head out of the walls his hands were forming around her.

"So what do you want me to do? How does that make me able to help?"

Stilinski dropped his hands. "You kinda hacked our hacker - which was pretty cool by the way, Danny was impressed," he told her (was that a tinge of awe in his voice?) "And you're said to be smart. So I propose, you try to contact some of the boys from last night. Say you wanna get to know them better. Keep an eye on them under the pretense of going on dates. FIgure out what might make them serial killer victim. And if any of them might be serial killer material. Or know anything about your friend."

"None of them were really my type, honestly," Lydia protested. But Stilinski had pulled a post-it pad out from under the balls of yarn and was fumbling for a marker. He scribbled something down and ripped off the post-it, handing it to her in one swift movement.

"Call me if you decide to go through, yeah?"

* * *

The bright green wrinkled square lay on the bedside dresser, the numbers scrawled across it silently staring at Lydia's form spread face-down on the bed.

She had spent the better part of the afternoon crumpling and unfolding the small slip of paper, wondering if she should take up the offer.

 _I could find Allison's at least help catch a criminal and save a few random guys' lives._

 _Or he could find out I'm working with the police. And hurt her._

Mr Argent still had not come back. Or maybe he had, but left again while Lydia was at the station. Lydia was glad she did not have to face him given the latest turn of events, she couldn't tell him she had been helpless as she watched his daughter get snatched away right before her. At the same time, she felt a little spooked being alone in the Argent house all alone.

Lydia flipped her palm over, revealing the contacts list on her phone where she had keyed in the number Stilinski gave her, but had yet to save it. She ignored that number, instead focusing on the smaller ones at the top of the screen. It was nearly seven and she had not eaten since breakfast so she pulled herself up and wearily trudged downstairs to the kitchen.

She had just grabbed a tortilla wrap (Allison's father apparently always made a couple of those if anyone needed a quick bite) and was checking out the contents of the fridge when her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, causing her to jump.

She jumped again when she saw the contact name of the sender.

 _Allison_

She had snatched up her phone and swiped across the lock screen in an instant.

108A on Tenth Ave. #03-05 Meet me there ASAP.

 _Are you okay?_

Lydia fired back immediately. Then,

 _Alli what happened?_

If she remembered their drive the day before, Tenth Avenue was some place downtown, where there were several apartment blocks. Why did Allison want to see her there?

Five minutes later Lydia was out on the road in Allison's car, silently cursing her friend for not having a map. Sure, Beacon Hills was a small town, but what about the larger county? Surely people travelled out there sometimes.

She spotted the apartment blocks in the distance, silhouetted against the low sun, and quickly filtered into the next lane. Her heart gradually became heavier and heavier with growing apprehension as she closed the distance to her destination.

She found Tenth Avenue and drove around the block twice before finding the slip road leading to the small parking lot. The resident's lots were mostly full, but there was only one unassuming motorbike in the lots demarcated for visitors. Lydia stepped out of the car and looked up at the building marked 108A. Part of her wanted to turn and run, maybe call Allison's father. The other part wanted to know what was in the apartment.

She took a deep breath, shut the car door, and started walking towards the building.

She was twenty feet away from the block when someone stepped out of the shadow of the building. Lydia's footsteps slowed. She hadn't noticed that man. Had he been there the whole time? Was he just a resident heading out? _Was he coming towards her?!_

She kept her head looking forward, but watched out the corner of her eye as the man slowly approached her. Tall, lithe and tan. As he got closer, Lydia suddenly got the feeling she was being stalked by a wolf.

They stopped five feet from each other. Watching, waiting for the other to move.

"You…" the guy finally started, then he coughed and cleared his throat. His voice sounded softer and kinder than she expected. Hardly menacing. "Are you Lydia Martin?"

She eyed him carefully. She has been recognised before by people on the street. But after everything she has experience in the last 24 hours, she was a little wary of the people in this town.

She gave a small nod - no more than a tiny jerk of the head.

The man's expression softened, the lines on his face smoothening out. He sighed, then stepped forward. "I'm Scott… Scott McCall."


	3. Chapter III

"I'm Scott. Scott McCall."

Lydia froze. She studied the man's features - large brown eyes, slight tan, broad shoulders, nicely filled out lithe frame. dark hair that curled upwards ever so slightly. She had heard so much gushing about him that she should have slapped herself for not recognising him sooner.

"Allison's Scott McCall."

That was all she could say. She had always imagined meeting her best friend's boyfriend under nicer, less shady, brighter circumstances, with said best friend present, of course. He would be dropping by Allison's unexpectedly while Lydia was around. Allison would do introductions. Lydia would spend her afternoon rolling her eyes when they did something couple-y. She never thought about running into him as they both tried to track down their kidnapped friend.

Scott smiled. It didn't reach his "dreamy, swoon worthy eyes" (Allison's saying). He gazed up the small building and Lydia tried to follow his eyes to the specific window he was looking at. He seemed to have been here before.

"His apartment is on the third floor," Scott said when he looked back at her.

Lydia frowned. "Whose?"

"Peter Hale," Scott answered in a matter-of-fact tone. He must have noticed Lydia's confused look, because he continued, "He has had some old history with the Argents. Allison said you were smart, so I guessed you figured it out."

She shook her head. "No," she told him. "She didn't mention it." She didn't tell him about the texts, and he did not press her further.

They walked in silence into the building and quietly stood in the lobby as the single elevator slowly rattled down. Only when they were inside and the doors were shuddering in their attempt to shut themselves did Scott speak up again.

"So, uh, I think the police called me straight after they spoke to you," he said. "I know some people at the station. I told them about my suspicions of Peter and they said they would check on him…but I want to see for myself."

The elevator doors opened before she thought up a reply.

They stepped into a small lobby shared by only 3 apartments, and a narrow corridor that Lydia presumed led to other units. Scott turned left, and Lydia followed.

The door to unit #03-05 was just five feet from the lift. It had an extra metal gate in front. Scott walked right up and wrenched the gate handle down. Then he did the same with the main door.

Lydia had to admit, she was taken aback. But what would she have done - knock? If this Peter Hale had something to do with Allison, he probably would not have let her waltz into his home. At least, not without some malicious intent. She closed the gate behind her and squeezed into the apartment before the wooden door swung shut. Then she bumped into a frozen Scott McCall.

Peter Hale's apartment did not have a hallway, instead opening right into a spacious living room. It would have looked neat and nicely-decorated if not for the fact that it appeared to have just hosted a hurricane. The coffee table was leaning on two broken legs. The large flatscreen TV had its screen smashed. Ornaments lay broken on the floor. In the far right corner, a bookshelf had had its contents ripped from its shelves.

Suddenly, the opening riffs of a song cut through the silent apartment. Lydia yelped and jumped about a foot into the air. It was only then she realised that she and Scott had been unmoving in the doorway.

Scott threw her a glance over his shoulder and when their panicked eyes met, Lydia knew they were thinking the same thing.

"That's Allison's ringtone."

Scott darted forward, vaulting over the broken table. His long legs easily carried onto the couch, where he peered over the back and promptly reeled back in disgust and horror. Lydia, close behind him, circled around the furniture and jumped a second time when she saw what was behind it.

A corpse. A bloody, mutilated corpse.

She could see Allison's phone ringing in its hand.

Scott climbed over the sofa and landed softly next to the dead body. He crouched next to it, like an animal sniffing at a carcass.

"He didn't do this," he told her. He lifted his head to look at Lydia. "I know Peter. He's slippery, but he is stylish. He wouldn't just leave _this_ lying around his apartment."

He waved his arms at the corpse as he spoke. The act struck Lydia with a misplaced sense of deja vu. She ignored it. There were more worrisome things going on.

She forced herself to take a step forward, and felt a weird sensation under her foot. Looking down, she realised there were some papers scattered at the corpse's feet. The arrangement was meant to look haphazard, as if the papers had been blown about and landed there, but she noted how they were all faced down, and laying within the same area. Placed.

With baited breath, she slowly lowered herself to the floor and picked up one of the pieces, gasping when she flipped it over. Scott ambled over and leaned over her.

"That's Peter," he breathed."And…you."

"Yeah," was all Lydia could say, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that someone had stolen her kidnapped best friend's phone to lure her to this apartment, and left pictures for her.

"You've met Peter," Scott said. There was a hint of suspicion in his voice. Lydia did not begrudge him of that.

"I - I didn't know it was him," she explained. Although she should have guessed Peter Hale was the same Peter at the club. Beacon County covered quite a lot of land, but its population was sparse and mostly concentrated in the few towns dotting the area.

"Why would he go speed-dating?" Scott asked. Lydia had no answer.

She scanned the picture again. It had a top-down view, almost like from a security camera. A red target had been drawn over Peter in the picture. With blood.

Hand shaking, she picked up the next picture.

This one had a different shot. Its dimensions were narrow - from a phone. Lydia recognised her back in the image. She was on the dance floor area. From the swing of her arms and placement of her feet, she was walking somewhere. Her left arm had swung into some guy's - the space was rather small, after all. The guy had been crossed out in blood.

It took her a while, but she finally placed his name. Taylor. The mechanic.

Something clicked in her head.

 _Taylor Brauner. Found dead this morning in his workshop. He was an automechanic._ That was what Deputy Stilinski had told her. Was that the difference between the target and the cross? That those crossed out were dead? Who was the corpse?

Scott was overturning more pictures. All with Lydia in them. All with targets or crosses drawn over the people she interacted with. She noticed Scott's hnad tighten around the one where she and Allison were getting drinks together.

"I have to tell St- "

He was cut off by the sound of a phone buzzing. Lydia's head snapped to where Allison's phone lay in the hand of the corpse, but Scott was already moving to pull his out of his pocket.

His brows furrowed deeply when he read the message. Then he lifted his phone for Lydia to read.

 _You should stop looking_.

Number blocked.

"We need to get out of here."

* * *

They ran out of the apartment, bypassing the lift and taking the stairs, hearts pounding in their throats.

Scott had tried calling someone and cursed when they did not pick up. His phone was clutched in one hand, fingers flying over the keypad as he crafted a message. His other hand was latched onto Lydia's arm, pulling her along behind him. It was a miracle Lydia kept up given her height and the fact that she was in heels.

They burst onto the still empty but significantly dimmer carpark, and Scott flung her in the direction of Allison's car, heading towards his motorcycle with a quick "Meet at the police station!"

Lydia scrambled into the car and yanked the door shut. Her hands flew to the ignition than the gear shift, starting the car in record time. She pulled up behind Scott's speeding bike.

They were going to turn onto the main road when it happened.

She saw Scott's brake light come on, then the bike wobbled, swinging out to the right. Then, as if it had developed a mind of its own, the bike skidded left and into the path of an oncoming car.

The police cruiser sounded its horn as it rounded the corner, but by that time, Scott McCall was a crumpled pile on the road.

* * *

Lydia sat on a plastic hospital chair, head in her hands.

She stared at the floor, unfeeling. It was probably the shock that had yet to wear off.

When they arrived, Scott was immediately carted off, and Jordan - she meant Officer Parrish made her wait in the waiting area for "official police follow-up". He left after speaking to the nurses and never returned.

It was Jordan Parrish who had been driving the offending cruiser. He had driven Scott to the hospital, called in advance, and ordered Lydia to follow in Allison's car.

She remembered Allison telling her about how Scott loved his motorcycle. He had worked to save up for it, just like he did with his first bike, then to have the controls upgraded to a newer system. On top of that, he was a very careful rider (this information Lydia received in the form of a swoon after asking her friend what it was like to ride with someone.) There was no way he was riding when something was broken, nor he did he do those reckless acts on his own volition.

No, someone sabotaged his bike while they were in Peter Hale's apartment.

One of the nurses emerged from the operation wing and turned her head in Lydia's direction. Lydia stood up, about to ask about Scott's condition, when a blur of blue and red darted past her.

"He's stable," the nurse said before the apparition - a guy, Lydia was now able to tell since he had stopped running - could even ask his _How is he?_

"Whatever happened he collided with the car with both at high speed. He had internal bleeding in his lungs but they've stopped that," the nurse told the guy as he bent over to catch his breath.

"Can I see him?" the guy asked, breathless and desperate.

"They're still fixing his broken ribs. I can only update you -"

"- when they've transferred him to a ward, yeah." he finished. "Thanks, M'lissa."

The nurse - Melissa - gave the guy a hug before disappearing behind the double doors to the operation wing. The guy ran his hands through his hair as he turned and started to pace. He did not notice nor recognise her, but Lydia caught enough of his face to recognise him.

Deputy Stilinski.

He was probably what Parrish had meant by "follow-up", sent here to question her, although he did not seem to be in the right state of mind to do so. In fact, he seemed more shaken up than she was, and she witnessed the accident.

Then Lydia remembered Scott saying that he knew people at the Sheriff's station. Her eyes travelled towards Stilinski again, following him as he paced up and down outside the room. His gait was agitated as he wore the floor down before finally collapsing in a plastic chair against the wall just a few seats down from hers. His hands were wrung in front of him and he kept one leg bouncing up and down so quickly it was nearly blur.

He was out of his uniform, probably off duty when the accident occurred. He wore jeans and a white ringer tee. He had on a pair of worn, green-striped Adidas sneakers that looked as if they made up half his shoe collection. And a plaid shirt, rolled up to the sleeves, worn over like a jacket.

Lydia heard Allison's voice in her head: _You could give his plaid flannel fanatic friend some fashion tips._

It seemed like Beacon Hills was a smaller town than she thought.

After a while, Stilinski seemed to compose himself. The tension in his body slowly slipped away, each wring of his hands or run of them through his hair was done with less force. (The leg that was bouncing, however, continued doing so, ad showed no signs of slowing down.) Then, as if he sensed a pair of eyes on him, he looked up and to the left, finally noticing Lydia.

She rose from her seat again, this time to approach him. He tried for a smile.

"Oh, hey," he said. "Uh, I'm supposed to ask you some questions, but uh, do you mind waiting a while?"

Only now that he was speaking to her did Lydia notice how different his voice sounded here than earlier in the day. Then it was modulated, ringing in her ears even after she had left the station, and a little boyish too, as if solving crimes and mysteries got him going. Now it sounded grave and croaky.

She returned the half-smile. "Of course, um, take all the time you need."

He turned away from her, leaning forward onto his hands, elbows propped on his knees. Lydia settled into a new seat, closer to him but with a chair in between them. They stayed that way, silent except for Stilinski's heavy breathing, until the doors creaked open again.

A dark-skinned man in a doctor's coat entered. He gave Lydia a nod, but was already poised to address Stilinski. Something told Lydia the off-duty officer had made several trips to become acquainted with the hospital staff.

"He's completely fine," the doctor said. "They are moving him to a ward on the fifth floor. Melissa will find you when everything's set up. Should be done in less than an hour."

"Okay," Stilinski exhaled, relieved. "Thanks. Oh - about my message - "

The older man nodded. "I'll try to talk to him. Thanks for the heads-up."

The two men exchanged a look, then the doctor clapped Stilinski on the shoulder.

"McCall - he'll be fine," he reassured the younger man. Then he nodded at Lydia again before he reentered the operation wing.

Stilinski released a long, audible sigh of relief. Lydia watched the line of his shoulders drop as he did so.

The seat creaked when he plopped down next to her.

"Okay," he started. "So, I'm still not really in the mood to interrogate you right now."

Lydia hummed as an answer. She was very okay with not being interrogated. She did want to talk to someone about what she and Scott discovered, though.

Stilinski reclined as much as he could on the small hospital chair, unfolding his long legs in front of him.

He opened his mouth and continued. "And, uh, I guess I didn't make a very good first or second impression? Since I was questioning you the first time, and then I was freaking the hell out… I knew who you were, by the way. Allison only mentions you every day."

In spite of the situation, a small smile graced Lydia's face. Allison had always wanted to introduce Lydia to her friends in Beacon Hills. Funny how they all found each other anyway.

"I've heard about you too," she offered. "Though I can't say as often."

The young man smiled too. It did not reach his eyes, but it was fond, as if he was thinking the same of Allison as Lydia was. He pushed himself upright and angled his body towards Lydia's.

"Stiles."

The first time Lydia had heard, or rather, seen the name was via text message. Allison had mentioned him in passing, and Lydia had immediately texted back: _What the hell is a Stiles?_

"Lydia," she returned.

They shook hands, or rather, they clasped their hands together but Stilinski's - Stiles' - hand was already shaking.

"Sorry about that," he apologised. The hand Lydia just shook went to rub at the back of his neck.

When his hands would not stop trembling, Stiles finally stuffed them in his pockets. "It's just - it's _Scott_ ," he said, as if that would explain everything. Maybe to him it did.

"Allison would be a lot more put together than this, if she were here," Stiles murmured. "She's probably more put together than me right now, even being kidnapped and all. Actually, Allison is always put together, in general."

He was not wrong, although if there was anything or anyone Allison would have freaked out over, it was Scott McCall.

"Nah, who am I kidding," Stiles continued, slumpming back in the chair. "It's Scott," he said, echoing Lydia's thoughts even though he was no longer looking straight at her. "He and Allison…jeez. You should have seen them when they first met."

Despite their situation, a small smile played on his lips as he talked about his best friend.

"He always wanted to meet you," the detective said. He gazed at Lydia through his thick lashes. "Not like this, though, but he wanted to meet you."

"I was looking forward to meeting him too," Lydia replied. "It's nice to know Allison has found someone who cares like that."

Stiles bobbed his head in agreement, and they fell into comfortable silence.

Melissa the nurse returned ten minutes later to inform them that Scott had been moved to a ward, but that they would be monitoring him for another half an hour still befre he could receive visitors, and that "Stiles, if you need coffee or anything else, now is the best time to get it, because I know you're gonna be camping here all night."

"This case," she asked in a hushed breath. "It's not…"

"Not one of the worst we've seen," Stiles finished for her, and Lydia got the impression he was assuring the woman.

The nurse retreated into the operation wing with a defeated "Okay…" and the man ran a hand through his hair again. Then he turned to Lydia.

"You want anything? Drinks? Food? There's a vending machine with snacks."

Lydia considered the offer. She did not have the appetite for a meal, but she had not had anthing since leaving the Argent household.

"Latte, iced, one sugar," she decided. "And is there chocolate?"

"Chocolate yeah."

"Reeses, then, if there is."

"Reeses. Got it." Stiles clicked his tongue as he headed down the corridor.

Lydia watched his figure turn a corner, and suddenly, something propelled her to jump out of her chair and call out.

"Stilins - I mean, Stiles!"

He stumbled back into view, backtracking two steps before he halted, head turned to her questioningly.

"I'll help you," Lydia told him.

Stiles Stilinski nodded. And somehow they understood each other, just like that.

* * *

 _I apologise to everyone for hurting Scott McCall. I don't have any interesting tidbits to talk about in the notes for this chapter but hope you guys like the Reeses mention._


End file.
